


Pick It Up

by linndechir



Category: Always Crashing in the Same Car (2007)
Genre: Blowjobs, Cockwarming, D/s, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Humiliation, Kneeling, M/M, very brief mention of watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 14:59:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2697197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/pseuds/linndechir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim calls Bill into the office late at night to deal with a problem and prevent a scandal. Bill is happy to take care of the situation, but he makes Jim pay for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pick It Up

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the nonnies who cheered me on while I was writing this (and who introduced me to this glorious short film in the first place). Our tiny accidental fandom fest is a wonderful thing. :)

“Where the fuck have you been?” 

Jim was standing by Bill's desk, trying too hard not to look like he'd been pacing for the past half hour, eyes livid in a way that might have been intimidating if he didn't also look like he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Again.

“On my way here is where I've been.” Bill watched Jim, the red spots on his cheeks, the wet glimmer in his eyes, the nervous shaking of his hands that even clenched fists couldn't hide. 

“You took your bloody time. When I say it's urgent, you get your skinny arse here, is that clear?” His voice trembled, too, slipping into a higher register on every other word and cracking every time it did.

“I'm here now, aren't I?” Bill still hadn't moved, just stood there watching him with the kind of patience that never failed to infuriate Jim. “Tell me you haven't done anything stupid while I was gone. We both know it never ends well when you try to make decisions on your own.”

“I don't need you to make decisions for me, Bill, I need you to sit down and do your damn job.” Jim grabbed the report from the desk – the _emergency_ that had him all twisted up, nothing that a few phone calls and some expendable flunky's resignation couldn't handle – and threw it at Bill's head. His hands were still shaking, his aim was off, and the folder only brushed Bill's shoulder before it scattered to the floor, some of the sheets ripping loose from the binding.

Jim was breathing heavily, finally quiet for a moment as if he'd screamed himself raw for now. It was a fine line to walk, between letting him yell and rage just as much as he needed to and not letting him get too out of control. Bill had long ago figured out how to rein him in at the right moment, how to wait just long enough for a break in Jim's rage to tap into all that insecurity underneath. It was almost tediously easy these days.

Bill adjusted his cufflinks, never glancing down at the scattered papers, but staring firmly into the watery blue of Jim's eyes.

“You're going to pick that up,” he said.

“What?” A slight twitch of the head, unconscious probably, and Jim glanced down at the floor, then back up at Bill's face. “You pick it up yourself. You should have been here an hour –”

“I said, pick it up.” He still had to repeat himself with Jim far too often; every time he needed to tear that weak bit of resistance down again, like Jim still thought that it made a difference if he objected once or twice. 

Once, that night. He gave Bill a baleful look, but he came over and bent down to pick up the scattered pieces of paper – glanced at Bill's raised eyebrow and put them in the proper order again, even smoothed them out a little. Good boy. He had to be scared, but then he always got scared so easily. He'd never had the nerves for this game, nor the balls.

“Now take a deep breath, Jimbo, calm down.” Bill smiled. “Think about it. None of this has touched you yet. The only person involved in this is Ewan: Ewan who screwed himself over, Ewan who got caught with his hands in places where they shouldn't be. And you've wanted to be rid of Ewan for months anyway. Right?”

“If I force him to resign, he'll fuck me over – me, and you, Bill, don't you fucking forget that, he'll – “

“He'll do no such thing.” Bill still felt a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and he couldn't be bothered to hide it. Leverage was a beautiful thing. A bank full of little investments that often seemed insignificant at the time, but play this game long enough and you ended up with quite the fortune of strings to pull, attached to people who either owed you favours or knew you could ruin them. “Now, did you call me here to deal with this or did you call me because you want to scream a bit more like a spoilt child?” 

“Don't you fucking condescend to me, Bill.” Jim stepped closer, getting into Bill's face, but even though he was looking down at him there was no authority in his voice, no real threat behind his raised finger, pointing at Bill's chest and stopping before he ever touched him. 

“Now now, Jimbo – you call me in the middle of the night to clean up your messes, I get to talk to you however the fuck I like.” He shouldered his way past Jim, didn't even have to brush against him much to send Jim scurrying to the side, wide, red-rimmed eyes following him like those of a terrified child, afraid of being abandoned in the dark.

Bill sat down and sprawled in his chair, leant back against the soft leather. It was still fairly dark in his office; Jim had only turned on the desk lamp when he'd come in, but Bill liked it that way. Liked the shadows playing over Jim's face, his pallor in the dim light, the dark circles under his eyes. He looked like a ghost without his stylist painting on a fake tan for the cameras. Bill held out his hand, and Jim scampered closer to offer him the file. Bill opened it, read it more slowly than he needed to, examining every picture and every little detail with exaggerated care, if only to keep Jim waiting.

“So what –?”

No need to interrupt Jim this time; he interrupted himself when Bill raised his hand, eyes still fixed on the papers in front of him. Another minute of silence as he pretended to continue reading, when he was already thinking about how to use this situation to drive home a point. Not like the situation itself needed that much of his attention. People fucked up all the time; the only thing that mattered was to keep Jim – and therefore himself – out of it; either make whatever it was that caused trouble disappear or distance themselves and throw the guilty party, or sometimes just a scapegoat, to the wolves. The thing Jim had never understood was that situations like these required a cool head, and that was why Jim never would have got anywhere without Bill's hand to guide him, and more importantly to pull on his leash when Jim lost his way.

“I'll take care of it.” He didn't need to look up to see Jim let out a relieved sigh, shoulders slumping a little – and he couldn't have that, couldn't have him relax too much. “You come over here.”

He did watch him now, the hesitation in his eyes before Jim came closer, as tentative as a stumbling fawn that had never faced a wolf before, but still felt an instinctive sense of unease. 

“Where?”

“Right here.” Bill rolled his chair back a little, one leg stretched out underneath the heavy desk. A small gesture of his head and Jim understood, hurt pride and outrage back in his eyes, but it was late and Bill wasn't in the mood for another tantrum.

“We've played this game before, Jimbo, and it always ends the same way, so how about you spare me the indignation and get on with it?”

“This is not a bloody game. You work for me, Bill, you do as you're fucking told.”

Bill briefly considered grabbing his wrist and twisting it, Jim was close enough for that, but there was little satisfaction in forcing him physically instead of exacting obedience.

“Jimbo, Jimbo, I'm the only reason _anyone_ still works for you, remember?” A sharp smile, and he could see the thoughts flicker through Jim's mind, whatever pathetic guilt he still tormented himself with, but that worked almost as much to Bill's advantage as the tapes themselves. “Would you rather take care of this yourself? Or maybe call someone else?”

A pause, but Bill could see that he had him, resignation replacing his anger, and then a minute shake of the head. 

“You want me to fix this.”

Not a question this time, but Jim still nodded, his shoulders slumped, his head bowed. Bill considered ordering him to undress, but there was really no need to see Jim naked when he had him bared in so many other ways.

“And why is that?”

“Because … you know what to do,” Jim said. His voice had dropped to a whisper, hoarse and weak, but it wasn't enough yet. Bill tapped his foot impatiently, and he had Jim trained well already, for all the bitching and complaining, because Jim stepped closer still, all jittery tension, fingers twitching by his sides. “Because you're the boss.”

Bill drew in a sharp breath, but there was no time for him to indulge just yet. He didn't say anything now, just waited for Jim to give up his last bit of resistance. His bet was on less than half a minute, and sure enough he'd only counted to twenty-one in his mind before Jim awkwardly sank to his knees. He glanced up again when Bill's leg pressed against his side to push him below the desk, with a last flash of indignation in his eyes.

“I'm not going to –”

“Yes, you are.” Jim's eyes flitted towards his crotch, and even in the half-dark he could see the relief on Jim's face when he realised that Bill wasn't hard. Probably a first after those three little words he so liked to hear, but he wasn't as young as he used to be. He still palmed himself idly through the suit fabric. “I already had a bit of fun on the way here. You almost interrupted me.” The relief in Jim's eyes mingled with something like regret, and even better, a hint of renewed panic. But he couldn't have that now, Jim sitting down there and freaking out again; it was bloody distracting. “Doesn't mean I can't keep you quiet, Jimbo.”

There was something frustrating about not getting hard when faced with that sight: Jim trying to make himself small under the desk, trying to get comfortable somehow and still keep up at least a semblance of dignity as he stared up at him with nervous eyes, but the good thing was that Jim didn't know what to expect if he wasn't going to get his throat fucked. Bill took his time unzipping his trousers, untucking his cock and stroking it idly once or twice even though he knew it wouldn't get him anywhere just yet. He wasn't in a hurry, he had work to do anyway.

“Open up. Don't –” He gave Jim a look that shut him up before he'd even had time to think up an insult. “– say whatever you were about to say. You don't want to do that right now.”

Another tense moment of hesitation, but then Jim swallowed and leant forward, opening his mouth to take the tip of Bill's cock in. He almost pulled back immediately, and Bill could see the disgust in his eyes. He hadn't had the time to shower, not with Jim insisting that he come by immediately, so he'd only wiped himself clean briefly after he'd finished. He hadn't thought about it before, that his cock probably still smelt and tasted both of his own come and of the cunt he'd fucked just an hour ago, but he liked the repulsed, angry expression on Jim's face. He didn't let him pull back, grabbed his thin hair to keep him in place until Jim had gagged once or twice and then got over himself, until he opened wide and let Bill slip his cock in as far as he could. This time Jim didn't move when Bill let go of his hair, just swallowed again in a way that felt good even now, the warm, wet heat around his cock surprisingly comfortable even while he wasn't hard.

Bill shifted a little on his chair, legs stretched out on either side of Jim's body, one of Jim's hands resting on his thigh for balance, but Bill didn't mind that right now, not with the way Jim had his face right there against his crotch, mouth stretched wide open, eyes cast down in shame.

Bill allowed himself a content little smirk before he picked up the phone.

~ ~ ~

“Of course you have a choice, Phil.” A hint of annoyance had crept into his voice by then, and his throat felt rough after over an hour of tedious phone conversations. He should have got himself a cup of tea, or even better a glass of Scotch, before sitting down. He'd briefly considered sending Jim – he did like the idea of sending him on errands like a secretary – but he quite liked having Jim right where he was. Occasionally he glanced down at him, at the way his jaw strained and his eyes watered, at the spit running over his chin. Jim had only tried to pull away a couple of times, not even consciously, Bill thought, just a physical reaction to his aching jaw and his general discomfort. The second time Jim had shifted, Bill had planted one foot firmly on Jim's thigh, the dirty sole soiling the expensive suit fabric, and every time after that all he'd needed was a little bit of pressure to keep Jim right where he was supposed to be. 

“You can either write what I tell you, you cheeky little cunt, and continue your pathetic career, or you can have your little scandal now and never again have anyone that matters tell you anything you didn't already read in yesterday's newspaper,” he said, his fingers tense on the phone.

Fucking journalists. Bill hated fucking journalists. At least people in his own line of work knew to do what he told them, even if it usually took a bit of negotiating, cajoling, and threatening, but journalists still had this ridiculous idea that they were outside of his sphere of influence. So he half listened to some more whining about the freedom of the press, his eyes back on Jim for the first time in the last fifteen minutes. 

Jim noticed and glanced up, eyes wide and glassy. Not much anger left now, he'd got that out of his system. The fear had mostly gone, too, while he was listening to Bill deal with his problems. Now there was just a blank openness, vulnerable and downright trusting, and for all that Bill loved terrifying him, he liked this almost better. This confirmation that he'd broken him down completely, that Jim was his creature, whether he liked it or not.

Bill shifted his foot until the tip of his shoe nudged Jim's cock, and although it shouldn't surprise him much, he still felt a delighted little thrill when he found him hard. Another nudge and Jim spread his legs further, every movement cramped and awkward; and when Jim swallowed around his cock, Bill felt himself stir a little. Now if only he could get that dimwit of a journalist to stop blabbing his ear off, maybe he could move on to the more pleasant part of the evening.

It took him another ten minutes of sharp threats as well as a vague promise or two (more of a suggestion, really, but people heard what they wanted to hear) to get the bastard to drop the story, and Bill couldn't bite back a sigh when he finally put down the phone. At least looking down at Jim cheered him up immediately.

“There, all done. You can stop worrying your little head off now.” Maybe he too was seeing what he wanted to see, but he quite liked the idea that there was actual gratitude in Jim's eyes. And if not, what did it matter? It _felt_ like fucking gratitude. He cupped Jim's chin, careful not to force it up too much, and watched with a smirk as Jim did his best to keep his lips wrapped around Bill's cock, sliding wetly against it, and Bill could finally feel himself hardening again. Half-dried tears were staining Jim's cheeks, from the exhaustion more than anything, Bill knew, but that didn't make him appreciate the sight any less. His thumb wiped one from the corner of Jim's eye, so tender it made Jim flinch.

“Come on now, Jimbo, your eyes'll be all puffy tomorrow. How's that going to look at the press conference, hm?” He pressed his foot against Jim's cock again, far too hard to be pleasant, and felt another tear slipping through pale lashes right by his thumb. Jim squirmed, but he stayed like a well trained dog. Bill rewarded him with a light pat to the cheek. “I'll need you to look your best. Collected, proper, untouched by any petty scandals around disappointing cabinet members.”

And Jim fucking _whimpered_ around his cock, and that was just about the only thing better than the hoarse 'I hate you' he would have got from Jim if he hadn't had his mouth stuffed. Bill wiped another tear away, felt Jim leaning into his touch ever so slightly.

“Dry your eyes, Jimbo, it's all taken care of.” He kept his voice gentle, soothing; caught Jim's cock between the sole of his shoe and Jim's thigh, applying just enough pressure to make it hurt, but not enough to make him scream. “Shouldn't you be thanking me?”

Bill sank lower into his chair and smiled when Jim didn't try to move away, but just opened his mouth wider to accommodate Bill's stiffening cock. He could almost find the lanky cunt attractive like this, on his knees, crying, with his mouth full, gagging all on his own without Bill having to grab his hair. He did sometimes curl his fingers into that mousy hair and fuck Jim's throat until he was hoarse, but he could get that from just about anyone. But Jim trying so very hard to please him made the heat pool in his stomach in a way that no mere physical touch could.

And fuck did he try, sucking hard, his pale cheeks hollowed, his tongue running over the underside of Bill's cock before he just tried to take him in deeper. Bill knew what Jim was thinking, knew he was probably telling himself that he was just trying to get this over with as quickly as possible, but there as no doubt that Jim enjoyed this, as much as he hated himself for it. His cock was still hard under Bill's shoe no matter how hard he squeezed it against his thigh, and Jim gave a low, throaty moan when Bill's foot slid down to nudge his balls.

“You're getting almost good at this, Jimbo,” Bill chuckled. He ran his fingers through Jim's hair, a quiet threat of grabbing him, but all he did instead was pet him like a dog. “You always had a filthy mouth; at least now it's actually good for something.”

Even in the dim light Jim's cheeks were flushed with shame, and he tried to bury his face in Bill's crotch even more. There were times when Bill preferred to make Jim look at him throughout the whole thing, but he was tired and his eyes were burning, so he leant back and let himself relax, eyes falling shut, focusing on nothing but the tight heat of Jim's mouth and his strangled little noises in the silence. He thought about how other men had eager young interns to suck them off after a long day, while he had the fucking Prime Minister on his knees like a cheap whore. The thought made him groan more than Jim's mouth did, warm heady pleasure like the dizziness after a bottle of red wine. He didn't let go so completely because he trusted Jim, but because he had no doubt that he'd broken him, at least for tonight.

He didn't even bother to grab Jim's hair once he was close – and Jim really should have known better than to hope that he could get this over with quickly, should have known that Bill had some actual stamina instead of coming from a few strokes like a fucking teenager the way Jim did. Jim's startled gasp for air was louder than Bill's moan, but he only pulled back an inch before closing his lips tightly around Bill's cock again, swallowing every drop eagerly, greedily even, like he'd been fucking dying for it. 

Bill let out a breathless laugh and patted Jim's cheek again, and even in his post-coital dizziness he didn't want this to be over, not just yet.

“Stay right there, Jimbo.” Even though Jim glanced up at him in exhausted, suspicious confusion, he obeyed, his jaw slack, drool dripping from the corners of his mouth. He shuddered when Bill nudged his neglected cock again, still straining hard against the suit fabric. “There's a good boy. I'm surprised you didn't come all over yourself.”

He sat up a little to get a better look at Jim, at Jim's right hand resting in the middle of his own thigh, tense and twitching, but he didn't move it towards his cock. Maybe he was too afraid Bill would stop him, and he was probably right about that.

Another minute passed and Bill shifted uncomfortably. His cock was growing soft again, the tip still resting between Jim's lips, and as always just after he came he was starting to feel pressure on his bladder. It wasn't urgent, just enough to disturb his post-coital haze a bit. Jim looked like a fucking mess, but he still showed no sign of fighting back, and his quiet acceptance was like a damn invitation. Bill cupped his chin again to make him look up, made sure to catch his eye before he said, “I wonder what else I could use your dirty mouth for. You'd let me do anything, wouldn't you? You'd swallow whatever I give you and say thank you.”

Jim frowned, and Bill could see the moment when the realisation hit him, the disgust and the horror, the twitch when he tried to pull back, but only until Bill's grip tightened on his chin.

“Don't be like that, Jimbo. It'd go great with that shit-eating grin of yours.” The look in Jim's eyes was tempting as hell, the way he tried to weasel away without actually moving, the way his pathetic little prick was still hard under the sole of Bill's dress shoe. It made him wonder if there was anything he could do to Jim that wouldn't get the cunt all excited. It almost would have defeated the purpose, if Jim didn't so obviously feel all the more humiliated for enjoying this. 

But on second thought he decided that it'd probably just end up being messy, with Jim sputtering and spitting and ruining the fucking carpet and God knows he'd never get rid of the smell again, so Bill filed the idea away for future use – in Jim's office, if anything, not in his own. Still, he enjoyed letting Jim stew a little, waiting like a scared schoolboy who knew he'd been caught, but wasn't sure yet how much trouble he was in.

Finally Bill wrapped his fingers around the base of his own cock and pulled out, letting the tip rest against Jim's lips.

“Next time maybe. Lick it clean.” The relief in Jim's eyes was delicious, eager gratitude mingled with the fear that Bill might still change his mind, so he lapped at Bill's cock obediently, fucking nuzzled it like a damn cat. Bill chuckled and grabbed Jim's hair, yanked his head back roughly.

“Still haven't had enough of my cock, Jimbo?” 

Jim licked his lips and wiped at his mouth in a desperate attempt to clean himself up a little, and he couldn't meet Bill's eyes, his cheeks burning.

“Pity there are always so many people who need to see you, or I'd let you spend an entire day down there.” Bill pushed himself up from the desk and walked over to the small liquor cabinet he kept in his office. He poured himself a measure of Scotch, considered in a brief moment of generosity to pour Jim one as well, and then decided against it when he remembered some of the choice words Jim had thrown in his direction earlier that day. He did so relish the safety of crowds, of conference rooms and committees, to take out his frustration on Bill – like a dimwitted child throwing stones at a caged tiger and forgetting time and time again that this particular tiger wasn't really caged by anything other than appearances. 

Bill heard the shuffle of Jim getting up, the cracking of joints and a few mumbled curses, for once directed at his own knees rather than at Bill. He sipped on his Scotch and turned around. “It'd really be more enjoyable that way, compared to pretending that you're actually in charge of this country.”

Jim was wiping his mouth again, with his handkerchief this time, but that only left his face more splotched than before. His suit was rumpled and there was a small dark stain on his trousers – Jim did always get so damn wet, wetter than some women Bill had fucked. For all his fumbling with his tie and his cufflinks, he still looked like he'd just been screwed senseless.

“Don't overdo it, Bill,” Jim said, and he almost would have managed a respectably warning tone if his voice hadn't cracked in the middle of the sentence. He had to be thirsty, and desperate to wash the foul taste out of his mouth. Bill grinned and took another sip of Scotch. It was the good stuff, the kind he kept for when he either really needed or really deserved it. He stalked over to Jim slowly, and for all his bluster Jim made a step backwards before he remembered that he'd been meaning to stand his ground.

“I'm pretty sure what I just did to you counts as 'overdoing it',” Bill said, “and you let me. I don't mind your posturing in public, Jim; it's in everyone's best interest that you keep up appearances. But you better not fucking forget what I could do to you.”

“Not without hurting yourself, Bill, and you're too bloody attached to your power and your money and your self-importance,” Jim snapped back, and Bill was never quite sure if Jim's ability to turn into a total cunt again five minutes after sucking his dick was a sign of stupidity or of more balls than Bill usually gave him credit for. Most likely it was just Jim being really fucking good at talking bullshit. There was a reason he was a successful politician, despite everything, a reason Bill had picked him as the horse he'd ride to the top. But horses could be replaced.

“I'd survive your fall, Jimbo.” He smiled, swirled the Scotch in its glass, and reached down with his other hand to squeeze Jim's cock, so hard it drew out a pained gasp. “You're convenient, but I don't need you. I could destroy your career and your private life, let the press tear you to pieces, and groom myself a new PM, maybe one who's not such a fucking pain in the arse.” Another squeeze, fingers gripping Jimbo's balls as tightly as if he wanted to rip them off. “So watch your fucking mouth.”

No smartass reply this time, the fear in Jim's eyes was too real for that, that constant fear that Bill would leave, that he'd turn his back on him and leave him alone to handle all this shit that Jim didn't have the nerves for. Bill finished his Scotch and set the glass down on the table, then rubbed his eyes. He felt the day catching up with him, the early start and the long hours and then this whole late night mess, and Jim's nervous breakdowns were so bloody exhausting. 

“I'm tired, I'm going home.” He picked up his briefcase and his jacket on the way to the door, without sparing Jim another glance; didn't even turn when he stopped by the door. “Go to the gents if you want to rub one out. I'll know if you do it in here.”

He didn't add that Jim would regret it if he did. Didn't mean that Jim wouldn't still do it in a fit of childish spite, but that would only give Bill another welcome opportunity to put him back in his place. He didn't wait for a reply and left the office, humming quietly as he headed down the stairs.


End file.
